


a moment that i won't forget until the day i die

by Nadin



Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kinda canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadin/pseuds/Nadin
Summary: It's the night before they leave London, and Steve have no other choice but to take Diana to his apartment. And no, he would not sleep in the same bed as her...





	a moment that i won't forget until the day i die

**Author's Note:**

> I have roughly a million and a half ideas for Wondertrev fics, and it's kind of hard to keep them original, but I hope this one hadn't been used before. It was meant to be funny and silly, but I slipped into angst once again - fair warning. 
> 
> Also - SO MANY IDEAS!

The key turned easily and the hinges let out a quiet squeal, reminding Steve that it had been years since they were oiled. He pushed the door open wider and held back, allowing Diana to step into the dark hallway first before crossing the threshold and closing the door behind them. His hand groped along the wall until he found the switch. One flick, and the place was flooded with the pale light of the overhead lamp, making him cringe inwardly a bit.

It was a miracle he still had a place in London, what with being massively absent from the country for most of the past year, and that was only because it was too much trouble to sell or rent it out when his mind was otherwise occupied more often than not. He tried to remember the last time he was here, but came up blank, a bulk of the past 12 months feeling so surreal that his life before that felt like an illusion somehow, less tangible than it ever was, more like a dream he could barely grasp.

Alas, having a place to crash came in handy now and then. They were to meet Charlie and Sameer in the morning, but until then—

“You live here?” Diana asked, looking around with curious apprehension.

“Yeah, I used to--” Steve cut off and took his hat off, putting it on the rack by the door. “I mean, I do. When I’m here. In London. Yes.”

“It’s… small.” She looked around, taking in faded wallpaper and a stack of mail on a table by the door, a few framed photos on the walls and old rugs on the floor, and it dawned on him that this was perhaps the smallest living quarters she’d ever seen in her life.

Steve bit back a smile; tried to keep his face straight as he glanced at her. “Well, we’re short on castles here.”

“Why?”

He blinked. Shrugged off his coat that felt oddly out of place after months and months of wearing nothing by a uniform. Even being here, in a place that he used to call home, was alien rather than comforting. He wondered if the problem was that it was only a brief stop, or if he was so disconnected from his _before_ life that he no longer knew how to find his way back to it.

“Budget cuts,” he responded, a traitorous smile flashing across his features. One of Diana’s eyebrows arched, catching the joke. Following his example, she took her hat off. “You can put these down.” His gaze darted toward the sword and shield in her hand. “It’s, uh—safe here.” And nodded in encouragement for good measure when she hesitated, assertive eyes swiping with space around them with another glance. “It’s small because it’s how it is,” he added then, without a hint of amusement this time. “It’s how people live.”

Earlier, Etta offered to take Diana to her place, which was very nice of her, but Steve rejected the idea. He was already putting more on his assistant than she bargained for. Leaving her to take care of a woman whose entire world was the exact opposite of what was deemed sane in their neck of the woods would be pushing it, he figured. Besides—

His train of thought was interrupted when Diana took a step forward, basically ending up in the kitchen. Two more, and she was in the _living-room-slash-dining-room-slash-bedroom_ , filled with an assortment of mismatched furniture that served its purpose just fine, despite not being aesthetically pleasing in any particular way. A couch against a wall, a bed by the window, a table and two chairs in between, two lamps and bookshelves. He watched her pause near one of the pictures showing him near the airplane in his early days in the army, when their reality didn’t feel quite as doomed yet, her expression pensive. Faded and gray and grainy, it didn’t look like much, but then it occurred to him that she’d probably never seen a photograph before.

Steve looked away, uncertain as to why watching Diana felt like in invasion of privacy of sorts even though she was merely studying his face, albeit frozen in time.

He draped his coat over the back of one of the chairs, loosened his tie, suddenly very aware of the charged air and how the two of them filled every inch of space of his apartment. It was dark outside, had been for hours now, and the long day was starting to take a toll on him, his brain feeling fuzzy. The street below him was dotted with the light of gas lamps, swimming in and out of chimney smoke, looking like something out of this world.

“Have you read them all?” Diana’s voice snapped him back to here and now.

“Huh?” Steve turned around to find her trace her finger along the spines of books lining two shelves in the corner. They were mostly classics – Twain, Dickens, Hawthorne, some ‘inherited’ from his mother, others acquired here and there. He cleared his throat. “Some of them, yes. I don’t usually have much time…” He trailed off. A pause. “Are you hungry?”

He poked his nose into the fridge, finding bread, cheese and crackers, courtesy of Etta.

“No.” When he straightened up, Diana was standing before him. “You said we should rest.”

“Right.” Steve cleared his throat again, suddenly realizing the gaping hole the size of Poland in his oh so brilliant plan. Sticking together – because they had a deal, because there could be more bad guys after him, and by extension after her out there, and because he needed to make sure she didn’t attract more attention to them than she was doing by, well, _existing_ – seemed like a good idea until he actually remembered that his living quarters were hardly suitable for being shared.

His gaze darted over Diana’s shoulder, past the couch, and landed on the bed.

“Right,” he repeated. “Rest.”

And rest they should, all things considered.

She watched him expectantly, the open fridge door like a barrier between them.

“There’s a bathroom over there,” he pointed at the white door just off the living room. “A shower, if you want--” This was not the mental image that he needed. He felt his cheeks grow hot, hoping against all hope she wouldn’t notice, or at least, wouldn’t see it for what it was. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You can sleep on the bed,” Diana said. “We slept together before.”

Steve swallowed, torn between amusement and embarrassment, an unbidden smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Tempting as it was… God, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

“No, we haven’t.” He shut the fridge closed, struggling to find the words. “I think you’ll be more comfortable on your own.”

She looked at the couch that was at least a foot too short for him, then at Steve again in genuine confusion. “But you won’t be.”

“I’ll manage,” he promised. “Now, let’s…”

He faltered. In his haste to make her look less conspicuous and, well, clinically insane – in the eyes most, they didn’t think it _all_ through, after all.

“Steve, what is it?” Diana started, but he was already crossing the room and diving into half-empty dresser tucked away in the corner, pulling the drawers out one after another.

“We need to find something for you to sleep in,” he muttered, pushing the clothes aside, until he finally reached--

 _Shit_.

He owned exactly one pair of pajamas.

Which they would have to share.

Because it wasn’t like he could sleep naked – and there _another_ mental image he didn’t really need.  

In the end, he handed her a striped shirt that was a bit oversized even for him in hopes that it would work, somehow, and kept the pants that he could wear with one of his undershirts for himself. Which was, perhaps, the best arrangement they could have. At least this beat sleeping on a boat.  

Ironically, this was not something his life as a spy prepared him for.

“You can change… there,” he nodded toward the bathroom like this was nothing. Like he did this every goddamned day.

Diana studied the shirt in her hands with a raised an eyebrow, her fingers running over soft, cool cotton.

“Well, this is…” She started, a little amused and somewhat dumbfounded.

Wherever this was going, Steve was glad she left it at that.

He slipped out of his suit while she was in the bathroom, mindful of the sound of the running water on the other side of the door as he tried oh so hard not to think of what they had both signed up for.

It was madness, really. Maru’s book was nothing he could actually use against the Germans, and the four of them were supposed to what, take out an entire army? Whoever and whatever Diana was, he doubted she could singlehandedly defeat hundreds of thousands of soldiers armed to their teeth, incredible as she was. This was suicide, however glorified the cause, and the realization left him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His own life he had every right to risk, but dragging three other people to their deaths—

He snapped his head up when the door opened, and then turned away respectfully when Diana stepped into the room, a glimpse of roughly 2 miles of her legs peeking from under the hem of _his_ shirt that was decidedly too short for it to be decent in any way that counted making his neck grow hot, and pretended to busy himself with slowly take off his wristwatch like it was the most precious thing in the world. He could smell his soap on her when she walked past him, the image of her hair gathered on the back of her head with a few stray curls framing her face seared in his mind.

“What is this?” She asked behind him.

Steve set his watch down and turned around to find her holding something in her hands.

“A snow globe,” he explained, stepping toward her. He couldn’t recall how exactly it ended up gathering dust on the shelf, but try as he might, he couldn’t recall not owning it.  

She looked up. “What’s it for?”

“Fun. I guess.” Steve took it from her, shook it a little, and the tiny village inside got buried in the whirlwind of plastic snow. Diana touched the cool glass, her eyes glued to the dance of the miniature storm. “See? Now it’s snowing.”

Her lips curved as her fingers closed around the clay base again. “It’s beautiful.”

And just like that, something snapped inside him, a warm, glowing feeling spreading from his chest and all over his body, threatening to overflow him. Steve shifted form foot to foot, moving away from Diana ever so subtly lest he get burned by the light radiating off of her. God, she was breathtakingly stunning – in his old shirt, with damp curls framing her face and coiling at the nape of her neck, all softness and power, somehow mixed together. He dropped his gaze, shifted some more before there was a solid foot of distance between them.

“It’s cold,” he said – more out of need to say _something_ than anything else, and added, jerking his chin toward the toy in her hands, “The real thing. Not this.”

She put the snow globe back on the shelf, her fingers lingering on the glass sphere for a moment.

Steve tore his gaze away and headed to the bathroom, relieved to find his toiletries where he left them in the cabinet over the sink.

“How far is it?” Diana asked from the room. He could hear the rustling of the fabric as she slipped under the covers. “The war.”

He poked his head out of the door, a toothbrush in his mouth, to find her sitting in the bed – _his_ bed, god help him – with her hands folded in her lap, her expression nothing but eager determination, dark eyes following his every move as her disappeared from her view and then reappeared again, crossing the room and pulling his own blanket off and then over his legs. He was too wired to even think of sleeping, however the excitement of the day was starting to catch up with him, his muscles aching in that way that screamed for a break.

“Not far,” Steve responded, trying to find a comfortable spot on the cushions that kept slipping from beneath him, lumpy in the way he didn’t quite remember. As if it wasn’t enough that his legs were dangling over the armrest. “We’ll—we’ll take a ferry. First thing in the morning.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lay back down, wiggle a little until her head found the pillow and pull the blankets up. Even with the heating on, the room felt chilly and if a little drafty. It was odd and silly to think about that as an inconvenience after the years of living in the trenches and sleeping on the ground more times than he could count. Certainly not now when he knew – or could guess with surprising clarity – what was be waiting for them on the other side of the night. And yet…

Steve reached for the switch and turned off the overhead light.

He let out a long sigh, eyes trained on the ceiling, following the crack in the paint he’d been promising himself to take care of for as long as he lived here, a scar on the pale surface splitting the space before him in half.

It was funny how loud the darkness could be, he thought absently. Not only the honking of the cars outside and the outbursts of conversations that kept floating up to the third floor, or the creaking of the old floors as the house seemed to be living and breathing on its own, but the chaos of his thoughts, the amplified thumping of his heartbeat in his chest, seemingly thunderous in the silence. And Diana’s soft breathing not ten feet away from him, the quiet squeal of the old springs of his bed as she shifted subtly, also wide awake, if he had to take a guess.

Steve rolled onto his side, tucked his arm under his head, not quite sure what to do with his legs while trying to block out the onslaught of thoughts that threatened to steal his sanity away. Rolled back onto his back, too antsy to stay still. Sighed. Was there any science behind the whole counting the sheep in your mind concept, he wondered. In the army, he learned to sleep with his eyes open, standing up sometimes even. And yet here he was, in his own house for the first time in months—

“You’re awake.” A statement, not a question. And a whispered one, at that.

Still, it nearly propelled him up and to the floor, his heart stuttering in surprise.

He glanced her way.

Head propped on her hand, Diana was watching him, her face hidden in the shadows but her gaze was something palpable, like a touch to his skin.

There was no point in denying the obvious.

Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and a jumble of messy thoughts about to spill all over the place, impossible to get ahold of. This was a business arrangement, he reminded himself. The one that had the fate of the world at stakes, and if not that, then at least several million people who did not deserve what was coming their way. Yet, he was only a human, and Diana was – as Etta put it oh so accurately – the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Not that he needed a second opinion to notice _that_.

All things considered, his inner turmoil wasn’t exactly uncalled for.

“Got a lot on my mind,” he admitted, his voice barely a whoosh of breath.

“Like what? The war?”

Steve’s mouth curved into a rueful smile he hoped she couldn’t see. “That, too.” He stared at the ceiling some more. “I just… I don’t get it. Why are you doing this? I mean, you were safe on the island. Relatively. You didn’t have to be involved.”

Granted, he’d probably also still be stuck in that cave if she didn’t bust him out, but that was not exactly the point.

“It’s our duty to protect the world from Ares,” she responded evenly. Like it was something as sure as the sun coming up in the east. Something that simply _was_.

He felt his lips twitch a little, his chest tight with inexplicably warmth toward her. “No, why are _you_ doing this?”

“Somebody has to.”

Steve glanced at her. “No, what I mean… Your people, they were not pleased. And understandably so. You didn’t have to go against their will for something that doesn’t concern you… personally.”

Diana stayed quiet for a while. She fluffed the pillow and lowered her head down, hand tucked underneath it, her eyes never leaving Steve, and maybe it was a hundred layers of exhaustion, but it occurred to him in that moment that he could probably spend the rest of his life looking at her like this, and that would be enough.

“My whole life I’ve been taught that it is our purpose to fight for the greater good. There is no point to possess the skills and knowledge that we have and not use them. How would I live with myself if I didn’t come?”

Her voice was unwavering, sure, and Steve felt his throat tighten. The idea of a Greek god being the root of all evil was as wild to him as it was the first time he’d heard it, but the fact that someone felt that way about the madness that the world had turned into gave him a fierce, relentless hope for something he couldn’t quite put into words just yet. Not salvation, per se. But maybe a chance for it.

“What about you, Steve Trevor? Is it just about doing something?”

He didn’t answer at once, counting for five in his mind, then to ten.  

“When you’ve seen as much blood, and death, and loss as I have, I guess you’d just want to make sure that no one else has to go through it.” His voice dropped and he looked away. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, barely dispersed by the light of streetlamps sneaking in through a crack between the curtains, he felt oddly on display under her curious gaze that could seemingly see straight into his very soul, which was equally exhilarating and terrifying. “Look, I don’t mean to—” He cut off. Didn’t mean _what_? He was curious out of his mind, and somehow the night and the soothing shadows around them made it easier to face the questions buzzing in his head without feeling like he was losing it. “How old are you?” He blurted out.

“Old like--?”

“I don’t know, years, months, moon cycles?”

“We don’t abide to… ah, human calendars,” Diana responded.

“Huh.” _Of course, you don’t._

“But my mother was here to fight Ares the first time,” she added as if it answered the question.

 _Of course, she was_. Way to make a person feel about as big and significant as a grain of sand.

It made no sense to him still, and if it wasn’t for… well, the magical rope of truth and the fact that a handful of women with swords and arrows took down a battalion of German soldiers with machine guns, he’d be tempted to write it off to a cult of sorts. Not that anyone could blame them for trying to stay away from the rest of the world when it was falling to pieces if it was, in fact, what they were doing. But there was more to it, he could feel it even though there was no logical explanation to it.

If she wasn’t telling the truth, how else could he explain the fact that she followed him on this suicide mission? How could explain _her_ , period?

Steve kicked at his covers, once against attempting to settle.

“This thing is too small for you,” Diana noted, mildly amused and utterly perplexed over their arrangement. “There is plenty of space here. I can move”

“No, that’s not necessary, really,” he responded quickly – if a little _too_ quickly, maybe. “I’m good.”

“You are being ridiculous,” she pointed out. As if he didn’t know that already.

The problem was, he wanted to be there. The problem was, last night on the boat, sleeping by her side was the first time he had a few solid hours of rest in so long he couldn’t even recall the last time it happened. The problem was that they were on a mission, and he was already seeing past it the way he hadn’t ever before. The problem was, he knew that if he allowed himself this one thing, he’d want more. He’d want to talk to her every goddamn night, and watch this smile of hers that was like sunshine, lighting him up on the inside. He’d want to make her laugh, and he’d want to laugh with her, and as crazy as it was, he was scared that once he got the ball rolling, there would be no stopping it.

For what it was worth, humans were greedy – by nature or against it, Steve wasn’t sure. Truth be told, he was hardly an exception, and a mere glimpse into something beyond the nightmare of the chaos they were all living in now was enough to frighten the living hell out of him – hoping for more than that felt like too much, and the kind of connection that could be severed by a stray bullet was not something he could afford. No matter how much he craved it.

But instead of all of this – because it was bad enough to feel those things; he certainly didn’t think he could handle voicing them to another person – he rolled onto his back again and pointedly shut his eyes. “Let’s just sleep.”

It wasn’t, however, until Diana’s breathing grew shallow and deep that his own mind finally slipped into the void as well.

\---

He had never seen the sky so wide and the water so blue, and when his small biplane broke out of the fog as if spat out into another world, for a long moment, all Steve could do was stare, transfixed beyond measure. His plane was on fire and his chest tight, his heart beating so fast, propelled into a crazy race by adrenaline coursing through his system.

And then the water was suddenly right there, all around him before he knew it was happening, filling his nose, burning his lungs, and he was _trapped-trapped-trapped_ , caught in the metal grip of the bent fuselage. And what a ridiculous way it was to die – he’d managed to make it through a year in German army only to fall from the sky? Unfair and stupid.

His vision blurred, his lungs fighting for an inhale, his mind feeling like someone pulled a black bag over his head, muffling the focus of the world around him—

Steve gasped, his wet clothes sticking to his skin, his whole body shaking uncontrollably from cold and exhaustion. France. It had been raining for weeks now, his entire battalion treading freezing mud in the trenches without any hope. A loud thunderous boom scattered across the sky, making him shrink in his hole of a hiding place, a rifle clutched in his slippery wet hands and the air smelling of dirt and decay. The enemy was getting close, their presence more and more palpable with every passing day, their weapons more and more elaborate.

Another explosion followed suit, making the ground beneath him shake and his heartbeat stutter. It was dark – so dark it felt like they were stuck in outer space, not in the forest in Normandy. So dark, so cold…

_He didn’t want to die…_

“Steve?”

He jolted awake, jerking away from the voice, fear and panic rising inside him in hot waves. Blinked, struggling to bring the world back into focus, overcome by a sudden sense of déjà vu. She looked the same, if smudged somewhat by the darkness of the room, but…

 _Diana_.

“It’s okay.” Her voice was low, soothing. Barely a whisper. Like she was a timid animal that could get spooked by a loud noise. “It’s okay,” Diana repeated, her palm soothingly cool on his cheek. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

 _Home_ … The word echoed in Steve’s mind, meaningless and empty. He could no longer conjure an image when he heard the word, no comfort or a sense of belonging attached to it – the way it once was, a long time ago. For all he knew, he could be anywhere in the world.

He swallowed hard, his chest heaving, as he stared at her, disoriented and still half trapped somewhere where he didn’t want to be. Her face was hovering over him, her hair loose and framing her high cheekbones, and even in the darkness, it was full of concern. And it was more than he could handle.

“What…” He croaked hoarsely.

“You were dreaming,” Diana responded, pulling her hand away.

“No,” Steve shook his head, pushing up to sit on the tangled sheets. “I was remembering,” he added more to himself than to her, the memories flashing before his mind’s eye with unnerving clarity.

He swung his legs over the edge of the couch, the floor comfortably chilly beneath the soles of his feet, and ran his hand over his face as if trying to pull the cobweb of a nightmare from his skin, his heart no longer threatening to break out of his ribcage and take off into stratosphere.

Diana uncurled from her crouch and lowered down beside him, and even though Steve continued to stare straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the way his pulse tripped over itself once again from her proximity, it was pretty damn hard to ignore her closeness. He chose to write it off to sleep-deprivation and whatever mess was happening in his mind. It was easier, he decided, even though he could practically feel her gaze on him, like a touch of something soft that made his skin prickle the way he’d long forgotten it could.

“Does it happen a lot?” Diana asked.

He scrubbed his hand ever his stubbled chin and let out a slow breath. Then glanced at her. “The war—it changes you. It destroys you.” He inhaled sharply and stared at his hands folded in his lap and then out the dark window behind which the sky was pith-black and moonless. “Like… like when you break a glass, you could try to glue the pieces back together but it would never be the same, you know.”

“All the more reason for me to stop Ares,” Diana noted. “It will change everything once I do it, you will see.”

He wanted to argue, wanted to ask, ‘ _What if it doesn’t work? What if you get your illusions shattered? Then what?’_ But then what? Where would he be if there was no one who actually believed that Ludendorff could be stopped?

“And then what? You will go back to, um…”

“Themyscira. Yes. Maybe.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry I—sorry I woke you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she responded in kind, her voice soft. “If you don’t want to sleep with me, you should at least take the bed. I think I’m better suited for… this.” She gestured vaguely toward his bedding. He opened his mouth to protest, and she added, “Humour me.”

Steve stared at her for a long moment, then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, and then she was climbing under the blanket again and scooting toward the other side of the bed, and he flopped down on top of the covers, keeping as much distance between them as he could, which still wasn’t enough not to _feel_ her with every cell of his body. He tucked his arm under his head, the pleasant haze of sleep slowly creeping over him once again.

“You can stick around, too,” he breathed out, conscious of Diana’s gaze on him. “Travel maybe. The world… it’s messy, but you’d like it. I’m sure you would.”

\---

She tasted of beer and snow and need and everything he’d ever wanted, and once Steve started kissing her, he knew he didn’t want to ever stop.

“Don’t you want to know?” She asked him two weeks after the war was over. Two weeks after Chief found him in the woods, unconscious but mostly unhurt, save for a few bruises and a bump on the back of his head where he was lucky enough not to his skull open. Two weeks since he gathered Diana in his arms once they returned to what used to be a German base and promised him not to let her go.  

“What difference would it make?” Steve shrugged and reached for her hand as they made their way along the bank of Thames, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind and ears catching the sounds of celebrations that he knew wouldn’t stop for quite a while. The truth was he was scared to know. Scared to find out how exactly he ended up catapulting out of a burning airplane and ending up without a scratch. Maybe he was better off not knowing. “I’m here.”

Diana laced her fingers through his and bumped her shoulder against his, smiling when he smiled at her. “Yes, you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> I MISS THEM!
> 
> Also feedback is much appreciated :)


End file.
